


All falls down.

by Leftleg



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: :/, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Beating, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Gang Violence, Homophobic Language, Knifeplay, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, Multi, Please Don't Hate Me, Ryona, Torture, Violence, Vomiting, Whump, Yikes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 04:38:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11478768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leftleg/pseuds/Leftleg
Summary: Bad things happen to Viktor and I feel kinda bad for writing this.Read with caution!!//update: fixed some errors here and there//





	All falls down.

**Author's Note:**

> If you hadn't seen it when it was posted then you may not know that this was actually part of a would-be series named 'Beloved', but I ended up deleting the entire thing from AO3 due to me not being able to finish it as the notes and plans I had written out for it were lost. I felt that instead of just having it sit there to rot with its confusing plot and horrid story telling, I'd clean the space up then post the part that I had worked the hardest on.
> 
> Now the tags should've been enough to warn most away from reading this god forsaken thing, let me give a bit of insight: this Viktor can be however old you want, I don't think that I put his age in at all so, free for all. Also the themes here are dark and morbid and even if you are used to gore, this may not be your cup of tea.  
> Please read with caution.

  
The sun has long since set in St. Petersburg, Yelagin Island having burst into its nightlife clothing of glittery sparkles from the city lights. It's going on 8 and Yakov will surely call for my head when Lilia tells him about me stealing away from her lesson in the new territory. He may even blow a fuse when he learns of the new student, a red-haired male my age named Miska, being whisked away with me. I could hear it now, Yakov shouting about disobedience and what punishments would be needed to "shake this disorderly behavior" and asking about how my father would respond if he found out about my skipping.

I crack a smile at the upcoming threat of my father figuring out about my dancing. In truth, the man cared a bit too much about me and my dancing, going as far as to cry over my sprained ankle weeks after the pain had subsided. It does make me feel a bit guilty to defect from the practice but honestly, how often does one roller skate in a week? Not nearly enough as they should. Plus, the recent inspiration of the figure skating world is coursing through my veins.   
  
"Viktor, are you sure about this? What if they find out we're gone?" Miska asks, worried, yet his skates are fully laced and ready to go.   
  
"Ah, the usual,” I sigh, “Lilia will fret and Yakov will scold. They'll continue with or without us." I say cheerfully, lacing up my own skates. Miska twists his lip, placing his hands on his hips.   
  
"So it's fine?"   
  
"I never said it was  _ fine _ , in fact, there is a punishment of extended attitude and battement time." I chuckle out, my partner jumps at the word 'attitude'. It's the proper reaction of any human being who practiced under Lilia for any given time. She has a knack for making the attitude stretch longer than what one would believe to be a reasonable time, and the strain of your leg was the worst.   
  
Your muffled pain is music to her ears.   
  
"Why is battement so bad?"   
  
"Because it's boring. Now, let us be off." I finish tightening the knot on my left skate. I stand and roll towards the smooth skating rink, where children and adults danced around on their own wheels.   
  
A look of determination spreads on Miska’s face, as he follows behind me to the waxed flooring. We drift around, finding our pacing on the wheeled shoes, making a game of dodging the few sprinkles of people who too, were finding their place.

Suddenly, random images of lithe skaters on ice, carrying out graceful jumps and spins sends adrenaline into my veins. A hunger to try at least one of the moves makes my legs ache.   
  
The majority of the people begin to clear out, the nightly cold washing them away. I look to Miska, who stopped to lace his shoes. I ready myself, endless recaps of the move they call a 'salchow' replaying over and over in my mind, slowing down and speeding up. Displaying the movement like a blueprint.   
  
"Miska, have you ever seen a salchow?", I call to him, confidence making me drunk with ambition.   
  
"A what?"   
  
Perfect. I build my momentum, the wind in my ears, as I start drifting backwards. I kick out a leg to drive the turn and-   
  
That's how it goes: a backwards drift, a leg kicked outward to use as leverage to throw yourself into the air, with the excess momentum from that, you hug your body and spin and hope to God you can land it.   
  
'You've practiced in your kitchen. These skates are your socks and the ground is the wood. Believe it.'   
  
I close my eyes, the confidence turning to embarrassment as I feel my body turn with a dizzying speed, my feet aren't on the ground and oh God-   
  
My foot hits the ground, the wheels having no issue with rolling the opposite direction. I look down at the ground, my brain and body deciding that one leg is enough and that a roller skate 'attitude' position is the best for a person who's never actually done this. I slow down, enough to safely bring down my right leg and come to a full stop. My hair has come undone and most likely looks like a gray mess.   
  
'Might as well pose.'   
  
"Are you amazed, Mis-"   
  
"Amazing! Grandpa, did you see?!" An excited voice of a child shouts, clearly bewildered. I look over in the direction of the voice, a small bundle of cloth on tiny skates, is clinging to the man he calls his grandfather. The boy's emerald eyes shine like jewels under the streetlights, the old man smiles at the child who continues staring back. I move my hair back into its ponytail, replacing the elastic band.   
  
"Hello, there." I greet. It feels awkward when the child doesn't respond.   
  
"Now, Yuratchka, it is not nice to stare."   
  
"Hello. I saw that. All of that, it was very nice." He speaks, excitement still evident but hidden with fear.   
  
"Thank you very much, Yura." I say, slowly skating towards the pair, Yuri looks ready to jump.   
  
"That was a quad salchow- four turns..."   
  
_ 'Four? Oh shit.' _   
  
"He's a bit of a ice skating fan. He's never seen anyone carry out the moves in person. " He stretches out a hand, prompting me to shake it.   
  
"Nikolai. This is Yuri, my grandson.", I grasp his hand.   
  
"Viktor, I'm here with my friend Miska."   
  
' _ Holy shit, his hand is strong.' _   
  
"Nikiforov? I thought you did ballet.", It isn't a question, more like an inquiring statement. I nod, fixing my loosening scarf.   
  
"This is just a break, Swan Lake can wait for some play, correct?"   
  
' _ Please let that joke work and break this weird tension...' _   
  
Nikolai smiles, a huff coming from his nose, Yuri beams when he hears the title of the production.   
  
"Grandpa, please? Can we see it?"   
  
"Would Vitya want us to see it?", He directs it to me and the child's eyes plead for an enthusiastic confirmation .   
  
"Of course! Will you cheer for me, Yuri?"   
  
_ 'He's so cute, how could I say no??? The way he turns pink with happiness is just-' _ A hand moves to my face, covering the smile and holding back the scream that pushed at the doors of my throat.   
  
"Then we'll go, Yura. Perhaps you'll pick up the sport.". Nikolai looks at his watch, checking the time.   
  
"Yuri, we have but a few minutes left until your mother worries. Enjoy yourself, I'll watch." He moves the coat sleeve back over his wrist, Yuri released his hand, skating in my direction and latching onto my leg, barely able to keep his balance.   
  
"Can you teach me the salchow?"   
  
_ 'Oh. Oh no.' _   
  
"Um, sure! Let's get you ready by doing some practice first."   
  
_ 'Fake it til you make it, Viktor.',  _  I reassure myself. We use the time that we have at the rink to  practice various balancing acts. Miska popping in and out to assist with the balancing of the child when I couldn't. He is a fast learner, picking up on walking practices and how to properly glide around without using too much energy or getting too far ahead of himself. He also became focused and critical quickly, rushing his drifts and walks.   
  
"Yura, isn't roller skating fun?", I ask him, hoping to lighten up his focused face. His head snaps up and he nods, he carefully skates over, one question on his mind.   
  
"We're glad you're enjoying yourself. Are you ready for the salchow?" I throw a smile, fixing the hat on the young boy that's vibrating with expectation.   
  
"Yes!"   
  
"Alrighty, now watch me, okay.", I fix my hair, this time rolling the length into a bun and fastening it. I drift back to the middle.   
  
"Now God, I don't pray often but don't let me fail now." ,I pray silently, closing my eyes and preparing to emulate the tricky move. The leg, the momentum, the kick.   
  
"Oh shit.", I huff, this time the landing is much more graceful and less panicky. The boy claps, ready to go.   
  
"Just like that, Yura!", He ties his laces, his grandfather perks.   
  
"Okay! Watch me, everyone!"   
  
_ 'Pure boy. I swear I'll protect you.' _   
  
Yuri goes into it headfirst and seemingly unstable. The rink is shrouded with anxiety as the four year old kicks out his leg, preparing to throw himself into the air. Nikolai is at full attention at his spot at the outside of the rink, Miska is texting on his phone, passing glances to the child just as he gets ready to form the jump. The air becomes suffocating, I feel myself bracing to snatch the child as soon as he looks like he'll hit the ground.   
  
Yuri kicks, getting enough force to toss him up. I'm prepared to shoot out to grab him at any moment; especially once he does his small twirls, only two forming and the feeling of him flubbing the landing nips at me.   
  
But he does it. The boy sticks the landing, though it's shaky and faltering. I shrug,  but who cares? He did the salchow and I'm proud.   
  
"Yuri, that was wonderful!", I speed skate towards him, lifting him high into the air. "Bravo, Yuri! Bravo!". Tears begin to fall from my eyes. Nikolai cheers just as loudly from his space. I put Yuri down and the time breeches closing time. He follows behind me, me being his only true piece of balance.   
  
"Viktor, phone!", Miska calls from the bench he’s been resting on throughout the ordeal. We roll over to the bench area. I take the phone and Yuri's hand to keep him from falling on the ground, then press the cold device to my ear, a man's voice is on the other end.   
  
"Vitya! Where are you, it's late!", The voice whines into the phone. Father is loud and whiny in my ear, it's so uncommon from a sober man that you'd think him drunk. Miska raises an eyebrow as my father continues to cry into my ear.   
  
"Ah, Yuri, I think it's time to get back to your grandfather. I'll be going soon myself. Take Miska with you. I hope to see you again.", I tell him, passing his hand to Miska, who had long since traded his roller skates for his sneakers. The pair walk back to the other end of the rink. I turn my attention back to the overly concerned parent.   
  
"Father, please. There is nothing to worry about. I'll be home soon.", I try to keep my calm, playing with a loose strand of hair.   
  
"But it's late! You're supposed to be practicing but you're not there, where are you? I'll come get you.".   
  
He called Lilia. Of course he called her, it's never them calling him is it? I roll my eyes.   
  
"That won't be necessary."   
  
"But-"   
  
"I'm not far, I'm on Yelagin Island with Lilia and she won't leave without me. You know this."   
  
It is a cold thing to say but truly, my father could be a major pest and I can't always handle the overly emotional side of any adult. I can hear him sniffle on the other end, and the sound of the puppy yapping unapologetically loud in the back.   
  
"I know... I know. I'm just worried for you, you know how people are about people like you-"   
  
"Not this again."   
  
"Viktor, listen, we both know that you're both completely unpopular and equally popular for  _ it _ . People are willing to overlook it because you are a strong piece of this country. You're young and foolish and like a fool you won't listen to me but- I just don't want to live to see the day that you're forced to heed me.", His voice flatlined, his throat sounding dry and pained.   
  
Parents have a way of making you feel bad.   
  
" I love you too."   
  
I close the phone and place it in my pocket, sitting down and exchanging my skates for my own white shoes, placing the wheeled shoes into the duffle bag. I look to the end of the rink, Nikolai and Yuri have left and Miska is nowhere to be seen. I start to walk through the darkened park, looking for Miska. 

I start towards the trail that leads to the area Lilia's holding today's practice. It forces me to walk behind plain, dimly lit buildings and between alleys and it really sucks because it's 21: 15 and I have no clue where I'm going. I begin to get nervous. I've heard of people getting lost and freezing in the cold of Russian nights, and that's probably the worst way to die.   
  
I mindlessly walk into a spotlight against the back of a plain building, a hand touches my shoulder. I turn quickly, nearly punching my companion in the face. I sigh when I notice the red haired man. He isn't alone, apparently,  he found some friends of his. I look at them, and recognize one of the people in the group. She's a fellow dancer in Lilia's class named Aleksandra. She acted as a dance partner for me in the earlier practices of the second act of our current production, but couldn't keep up as Odette and was replaced. It also didn't help her state when I turned down her advances.   
  
A sudden anxiousness washes over me as I study the group. Miska is replaced by a short haired man. Everything about him looks mean and angry.   
  
"Nikiforov, right? That glitzy fag on all those posters is you, right?" He asks, a look of pure disregard for me on his face, as if he could care less.   
  
"What? What are you doing? Who are you?"  My questions are shaky and scared. The short haired man doesn't respond, only spits the ground. With that, I'm pushed to the ground, my knees crashing onto the pavement first, a feeling of a sharp crack from them both going up my legs. With the amount of force that went into them bouncing off the ground, my body harshly flips onto its side. My ribs hit the pavement, landing hard along with my arm. My back hits the flat wall of the building behind me. Instinctively, I cower in, shaking as I curled inward.   
  
"What are you going to do to me?" My voice is even more distressed and uneven, I look up at him from my curled position. He sucks his teeth, then clicks his tongue.   
  
"Disgusting little freak."   
  
He spits again, walking closer to my shivering form on the ground. I look back to the group that stay stagnant behind him, Aleksandra has a camera to her face, a large, brick like piece of technology held in her hands, pointing directly at me. My heart stops at the sight of the girl that stood beside her, peering over her shoulder and at the small screen. She holds her grip loosely on the handle of a grotesquely decorated wooden bat, studded with rusted and bent nails along the head of it. It looks freshly cleaned and ready for use. She snarls at me from her spot; I sink more, closing my eyes in the hopes that I'd escape from this nightmare.   
  
Then, a sharp pain at the roots forces my eyes open and my head up as the leader pulls me up by my hair. I hear myself shout as I'm forced to sit on my knees. My teeth tighten as the prickles become annoying stabs that travel all over. He forces me to look at him.   
  
"What are you doing?" I grit out slowly, agitated. He scowls, eyes narrowing. My head faces the ground and a cold sweat washes over my body.   
  
"Did I say you could speak, you disgusting faggot?"   
  
' _ No, wait-' _   
  
The pavement moves fast, my face smashing against the harsh, rocky turf. Everything goes black and the scratching of the course ground tears at my skin. There's a dull pain against the front of my skull and the pressure on my nose makes me wince. He lifts my head barely off the ground, to look at his work. My lip is split and my nose begins to sprout blood, leaking down and mixing with that dripping from my damaged mouth. I can feel the cooling liquid cascading down my face.   
  
He smirks and again, my head lifts and my eyes widen at his extra pull on my scalp. I reach my hands to his wrist, trying to pull him off.   
  
“Stop!”   
  
With breakneck speed, my vision met with the blackness of the ground. My mouth fills with blood from my cut gums, lips splitting more, and my nose cracking noisily from the impact. I can feel the sharp, tiny rocks cutting into my skin and I feel them between my teeth, embedding themselves in the spaces between them. I begin to whimper into the ground, my face still pressed against it.   
  
“ Shut the hell up!” He shouts, grinding my face against the pavement. Tears start streaming, the salt in the liquid making the cuts burn. I brace my hands on the ground, palms pressed flat.   
  
Submissive.   
  
“ Please…”   
  
I feel his hand release from my scalp. I peek up at him, my stomach expecting a dismissive gesture. My matted hair clouding my vision like a stringy fog, the light tips darkening from the blood. My nose continues to leak while my mouth becomes tight from the drying.   
  
“Lift your head, fag.”   
  
I comply, my head feeling heavy with the liquids pouring from it. His smirk widens on his own visage. My heart drops to my stomach as I notice his hand movements. He makes a slight motion towards the girls, bending a finger and silently calling them both over. Aleksandra inches closer with the camera, standing a ways back while the girl with the bat stands next to the leader. She taps the nailed object on the ground, the wood making haunting scrapes while he whispers in her ear. He throws a look back at me, moving to give the armed female some room; crossing his arms as she gets into a well practiced and perfected batting stance.   
  
“Sit up straight, fag. If she misses, it won't hurt as bad.” He jokingly commands and my spine straightens when I jolt from a sudden chill.   
  
“No.” I mumble. I feel myself grow colder on the inside.   
  
A whipping sound whistles through the air and a blur of brown wood speeds into my view.   
  
_ ‘Oh God no. ‘ _   
  
Crack.   
  
I hear it. I feel it. It's enough force to nearly send me reeling.   
  
The disturbed wood meets my already damaged face, finishing what was left of my nose. Blood splatters along the ground before me, drops landing with solid ‘ _ splats _ ’. I try to breathe through my destroyed nose to no avail, forcing me to breathe through my mouth. I bite my tongue on impact- hopefully enough to bleed out.   
  
“One more time, Tilla.”   
  
Tilla nods, stretching her hands by flexing her fingers; rolling them open and closed. She rears back, lifting the weapon over her shoulder in a professional stance. I can't breathe, and the sharp pieces of broken bone hurt under my ripped and torn skin. The socket under my left eye feels faulty and any ability I had in that eye diminished slightly. I shake my head, slow and weak. My throat burns from my heavy breathing.   
  
“N-No more…ple-“   
  
The hard and pokey object hits against my mouth, the nails prodding my mouth and stabbing my lips. I feel the round tops getting under thin skin, pulling and ripping it as she pulls away; as if it were teeth against dry skin. My mouth becomes just as damaged as my dismantled nose. Pieces of my front teeth leak from my mouth, riding along the stringy spit laced blood. The long string of red and chunky white reaches the ground. I watch it between my hair, barely focusing. Everything became blurry as I watch the stream.   
  
_ ‘No more. No more of this. I want to go home. _ ’ The only thought that bounces in my head. I slouch, leaning forward slightly. Tired, I slouch back onto the ground.   
  
"Look at you. A fag on the ground, getting what he deserves."   
  
I can't speak, the painful stings of my sticky, ripped lips only parting to allow me to breathe.   
  
"Nothing to say?"   
  
_ 'Nothing.' _   
  
"First you couldn't shut your mouth, now you're fucking silent." He says, angrily yanking the back of my coat to lift me onto my hands and knees. I obey, too sluggish and exhausted to fight anymore and my arms nearly give way when I lean forward to rest my palms on the ground. My knees roll over a collection of rocks, they dig into my bruised caps. A sob escapes from my lips.   
  
_ 'I want to go home.' _   
  
Another sob, this one low and achy, the ringleader raises a brow.   
  
"Oh, you like this shit, homo?" He questions, raising both brows in disbelief. He squats in front of me, lifting my head by pulling at the base of my neck. I grit my teeth, my lips pull apart at the barely closed cuts on them, the blood starts again.   
  
"I can't believe it. This disgusting fag  _ likes _ the pain!" He releases my hair harshly, standing up again, he continues speaking. I drop my head, tears start forming at the edge of my eyes.   
  
"He likes it!  _ You know what- _ let's see how  _ disgusting _ this shameless fag can get." He taunts, motioning for a blonde wielding a pocket knife to step forward. I eye him scornfully, he scowls and turns up his nose. He plays with the blade in his hands.   
  
"You side-eyeing me, queer? Let me remind you where you stand."   
  
I close my hands into a fist, fingers dragging along the ground. I feel myself shrink in as he gets closer with a brisk speed walk.   
  
"Know your fucking place." He says through clenched teeth, pulling his leg back and driving his foot to my stomach. The toe of his sneakers stabbing into me, my insides moving as if to welcome the intruding foot. His follow through is strong, causing my back to arch sharply, partially lifting me off the ground. My mouth opens and a cough erupts from my body, the feeling of the warm, acidic liquid rushing up my chest burned. Blood came out first.   
  
Following the scattered splatters of the red came the yellow acid. The acidic yet thin liquid shoots from my throat onto the ground. The sharp pain of the yellow liquid seeping into my split lips makes me yelp and tears to stream down in torrents. I cough and wheeze until my lungs hurt. Another shocking kick sends out only specs of blood. A warmth fills my abdomen when he pulls away a second time.   
  
' _ Internal bleeding?' _   
  
A kick on my side. A snap.   
  
_ 'My ribs?' _   
  
I hope so. Please.   
  
Another kick near my shoulder. A crack.   
  
' _ My arm?' _   
  
Please.   
  
A foot hit my back, behind my damaged shoulder, pushing me down.   
  
PLEASE.   
  
I close my eyes. The darkness feels like a release, the cold of the world seeping in, my lips becoming dry and fragile from my breathing.   
  
It's dark. It feels welcoming.   
  
"Stop. Strip the fag." A female's voice sings against her words.   
  
' _ What _ ?' The word whispers in my head, I open my eyes enough to let in the outside.   
  
"What? Why?"   
  
"Do it. He shows off to men all day, I'm curious as to what he's showing them.Plus," Footsteps come closer, the sound of the camera being adjusted along with it. "I want to know if that's his true color. C'mon, Vasya, we don't have long." Aleksandra sings, panning the camera over me, the girl with the bat nods in agreement.   
  
I shake my head.   
  
I don't want this.   
  
I want to go home. It's cold.   
  
"Whatever. Fuck it." Vasya takes his foot off my back, his weight feels weird when gone. He pushes me on my back and my limp, pained body moves like deadweight.   
  
"You heard her. Strip." He plays with the blade of the knife in his hand, staring down on me. My body creaks silently as I sit myself up, fumbling with the zipper of my coat. My fingers hurt as they bend and slide the zipper down, opening the warm garment and allowing the freezing air to rush in. I shiver harshly and the sound of Vasya's annoyed 'tks' encourages me to try to move faster.   
  
"God, the dumb whore can't even get his clothes off quick enough."   
  
"No, it's fine. I like watching him suffer like this- maybe we should watch him freeze when he's done." A voice perks with a laugh. It's familiar too, like Aleksandra, I feel like I know this person.   
  
I shake more at the tone, how joyful it sounds in the darkness makes the cold even more intense. I make haste with my shirt, easing it off as fast as I can due to the cold. The pain from my stomach comes back when I arch while pulling the tight fabric over my shoulders, I take from my breathing to hiss in pain.   
  
My torso is bare, my pants unzipped, I look down to view the damage on my skin, my hair falling into my face. A large blue and green bruise covers the majority of my skin. The sensitive spotting went well over my navel and crept up towards my ribs, stopping just below my pectoral. I reach out to touch it, to run my fingers over it to assure myself that this isn't real. I inhaled blood, the liquid like daggers to my sinuses, forcing out a cough that throws me forward and my bending feels like a straight punch to the bruise.   
  
"Oh! Sexy Viktor's body!" Aleksandra coos as I shiver and shake violently, sighing with each bone rattling shake.   
  
"Look at him huffing with lust and anticipation!"   
  
' _ Lust?' No.’ _   
  
I pan over them all, standing and watching me, phones drawn to snap photos of my freezing form. They're cooing to each other but my brain casts out their voices as my eyes focus on the lonely figure in the back. The only one who had not stepped forward the entire time stands behind with a wide smile, his face is flushed. I want to look away but trying to rip my eyes from his black pools proves impossible, he chirps and waltzes forward. When he finally sets foot in the light and the congregation of abusers part, my heart stops, my throat dries.   
  
It's Ivan. And he's happy. Much too happy.   
  
"You're so pale, Vitya. I honestly think that red and violet are your signature colors!" His foot lands hard on my chest, catching part of the bruises that spread there. I feel my throat clench, dry and tight, trying to snuff my voice. Ivan loves to hear me in pain, he relishes in the tortured moans and gasps of anyone near him.   
  
His foot pushes me back, my skin screams when it meets the cold brick. I hold in the gasps, I won't give him the satisfaction.   
  
His heel meets my chest, right onto my heart.   
  
_ 'I hope it stops.' _   
  
He rubs it in, as if snuffing a cigarette. I grit my teeth while the ridges of his boot claw at my skin. I tear up once more and he smiles bigger, wickedly. Taking pleasure in bringing me misery.   
  
He moves from rubbing the right to jabbing my left. My lungs hitch and scream yet, I feel numb on the outside. Every stomp, kick, and punch feels like a weight being moved constantly.   
  
This is fine.   
  
I can rest like this. My vision waivers and I feel dizzy.   
  
' _ Good. I want to die.' _   
  
"Oh,  _ no, no, no _ ! You're not dying now, Vi. I have much planned for you."   
  
My head jerks forward, his fist deep in my hair, the strands tangled around his fingers.   
  
"Vasya. His pants, if you please."   
  
" _ Tch _ ." Vasya responds, yanking the fabric from my legs, the aid  of his knife for any difficulties.   
  
There are none. I don't care anymore.   
  
"Viktor."   
  
I close my eyes. I close them tight.   
  
I want the darkness. I want the haunting peace from it, I want to drown in it and-   
  
"Viktor."   
  
I want this to end. I want to close my eyes and never open them. To clam up my lungs so I never breathe again. I want this to end.   
  
I want all of it to end.   
  
"Viktor," This time, it comes out like a purr. I'm tired, annoyed, and hurt yet no matter how bad I want everything to end, it doesn't. It keeps going on and on.   
  
"You like cock, don't you?" The question sounds innocent with his playful, sing-song voice, he forces my head to nod, answering his own question.   
  
' _ What's the point? It doesn't hurt.’ _   
  
"Great! Glad to know. How often do you like it? How often do you crave some man's cock to pound into every orifice your body has to offer, hm?"   
  
I look into his eyes, the dark pair miles from the lighthearted tone his voice lilted with. While his mouth was warm, his eyes remained cold and merciless. I look to the camera, the lens focused directly on my face, awaiting a response. My jaw clenched in annoyance.   
  
His fingers tighten, prompting an answer.   
  
"Often." I spit, low yet loud enough to hear. My dry, scratchy throat shouting for me to keep my mouth shut, my inability to breath when speaking is a loud scold.   
  
"Oh, do you know? How about now? Would you like some now?"   
  
' _ No _ .'   
  
Please don't.   
  
Stop.   
  
A yank. An answer.   
  
"Yes."   
  
' _ Fuck _ .'   
  
"Then who are we to deny our prima ballerina – our Russian star, what he wants?" Ivan coos the question sarcastically, his voice dripping with disgust and loathing .   
  
_ 'The worst kind.' _   
  
The blood from my nose is dry, making the damaged part itchy. The dry skin on my mouth crack and start to bleed from my speaking. I look down, the parts he kicked and prodded started to bruise.   
  
_ 'It doesn't hurt. Nothing hurts.' _   
  
"Petya, his arms, please." Ivan let go of my hair as this 'Petya' person came over reposition me, taking me off the wall and leaning my back against their chest, pulling my arms behind my back and gripping my wrists. Ivan positions himself between my bare and freezing legs, grabbing my limp thighs and spreading them apart. My heart jumps when he runs his thumb on the skin, his warm hands causing tingles on the flesh. He rubs near my knee, then kisses the scraped and bruised are, licking the nearly healed wound. I wince deeply, body curling and legs twitching as he lapped his tongue hungrily over the sensitive spot. A trail of saliva connecting the two when he pulls away. His eyes meet mine and-   
  
My heart sinks.   
  
No... it stops.   
  
He is the embodiment of evil. Even when we were children, he showed promise of being the worst of the bunch. Now, it became clear. Crystal. Clear.   
  
Patya clears his throat, leaning forward to whisper into my ear, slightly amused, "See, Ivan doesn't like cock. He isn't a fag like you- he just likes anything that'll bleed on his dick. Anything that'll spill guts for him to chew up and spit out when he's done. He's a sick bastard but still much better than you and your kind will ever be. How does that make you feel?"   
  
I shiver, the cold playing factor in the violent shudders along with the warm breath against my ear and neck. Ivan quickly does away with my underwear, taking a moment to study my body. I feel shy, sinking inward.   
  
"Wow, Vitya, you're quite built,", he compliments, running a finger along my length, "a perfect little show monkey, yes? I bet you get lots of sponsorships with this body of yours.”

 

Ivan's face darkens, yet he smiles. He wraps a fist around my base, squeezing tight, a suffocating grip on my shaft, sending a jolt up my nerves. My muscles tighten and I hiss from my lips.   
  
"You disgust me."   
  
He tightens so much, it feels as if he'd rip it off at any moment.   
  
"I want to end you."   
  
He loosens, stroking me long and slow, drawing out the experience to watch me squirm and feel the muscles of my legs flex. I feel warm, a blush creeping all over as he continues.   
  
" I want you to fail. To fall apart with each missed step, each fumbled jump- I want you break apart as everyone leaves you behind. I want to end you.", He recites as if he's said it hundreds of times before. His index finger brushes my tip, running a circle over it. It's a never ending loop on the pink skin. I feel myself hardening against his palm and my hips involuntarily jutting me into his hand.   
  
I want him to stop. I want to go home.   
  
He stops the circle and returns to the slow and agonizing pace. A small rhythm causing my body to rock with his movements. I'm getting lost in the scene, I'm giving in to him. My eyes drift close, the shaky breathes I tried to keep inside, pour out in ragged huffs. In the darkness, I imagine the look on Ivan's face, frowned up in scorn as he stares down at me, his eyes hiding the true plan in his mind and-   
  
Then a pain. A sudden shock.

My eyes open wide, not minding the swelling that had started around them. They focus on Ivan, his movements quickening as he strokes, broadcasting the wet, sickening sounds with one hand. The other though, the other rests on the bruise on my abdomen, his nails digging and ripping at the discolored skin. The mixture of the pain and the lust that poured and pooled in me grew into a disturbing concoction. His strokes sped up, nails stabbing and dragging into my flesh, even the catching and scratching made my heart's pace hasten and my lungs jump and squeeze out air in huffs. I feel sweat run and drip off my body, precum dripped and splattered with his gunning motions. I hear myself moan with each gasp of air. The hands on my wrists tighten, burning as if it were a rope. I sink my teeth into my lip and grind, cutting the them open again. The blood starts up and leaks into my mouth and drips down my chin along with some escaped saliva. I hear Ivan groan.   
  
"How considerate of you, a selfish fag making himself bleed for me."   
  
He stops scratching and pulls back his hand, balling it into a fist. Everything tightens- flexing and releasing when I feel myself right on the edge, his fist comes down hard, knuckles digging into the sensitive skin he had just finished ripping apart with his nails. His hand sinks deep, I gasp, cumming right when he brings the hand onto my stomach.   
  
"Fuck!" I moan, the hot blood that courses through me causing more shudders and shakes, an aftershock of sorts. My head falls back, landing on Patya's shoulder. My chest huffs and my lungs shake within. Ivan's hands move, his hands going lower to rest on my thighs; I watch him through tired eyes. He looks down, this time examining my lower body and what he's done. He smiles at my crotch, then turns to the camera.   
  
"It's gray. I can't believe it's gray."   
  
A thin digit rams into me, penetrating the tight flesh. I lose breath, my lungs squeezing, closing themselves. Another finger follows not long after and the two spread apart, forcing me open. His nails are long and sharp, cutting when his fingers curl inside and his hand drags. The talons yank like hooks, the blunt yet equally piercing tips of his nails drag and catch my insides. I moan loud and dirty.   
  
"You like this too?"   
  
He shoves the fingers deeper and I jump, my toes curl tight. The fingers spread and scissor, the nails scratching, getting deeper and more intense when he locks the digits in their curled position. He pulls the hooks out, scratching and cutting while he does so.   
  
"S-stop!" I plead while the sharp body parts thrust in me, against the clenching of my body, getting dangerously close to the bundle of nerves.   
  
"You like it when I push into you? You like when I curl my fingers and dig my nails into your fleshy insides, yanking them out and cutting you open, don't you , Viktor?"   
  
I shake my head, my body moving fast in time with his hand and the embarrassingly loud and lewd moans stray from my true feelings. His free hand finds a thigh and digs his nails into it, he yanks the other out of me again, a wet feeling escaping with them.   
  
"Amazing- you've started bleeding from there too. You must love me, Vitya."   
  
My eyes drift closed- everything feels hot and suffocating and horrible. I want to go home. I want to forget all of this .   
  
I feel something sink into my thigh, something cold penetrating the skin, just barely hitting muscle. It drags down and I feel the skin part.   
  
"What the fu..uck!" I breath out, watching the steel blade become decorated with the red and slight bits of yellow. It hastily glides down my skin the ridges tearing the skin apart. He takes it away, grinning like a fool. He licks the blade, being sure to not spill any. He turns back and licks the newly made wound.   
  
"You disgusting fucking whore." He whispers against the cut. I wince when he bites the skin and pulls on it with his teeth.   
  
"Disgusting fag."   
  
I feel the metal again, lower though. It prods against my previously abused entrance. I gasp, panting as the cold, slightly wet metal enters me, literally stabbing into my opening. I jerk as the sharp ridges enter at once, a warmth runs down the spot. He presses until the hilt touches, then turns it and pulls. A choked scream erupts from my throat and he laughs. Ivan laughs when he pulls the ridged weapon out of me. Laughs when my puckered skin tears and blood drips from it. My body shakes under him, fear and weather mixing to shake me and stir me like a crazed earthquake. Parts of my body are completely numb- my muscles tired and sore from their tightening and loosening. My vision cuts when a strong wind blows, washing my body with the air and bringing Ivan's armed hand down, sheathing the blade in my stomach.   
  
Blood comes up my throat and leaks from the corner of my mouth. It pulls out, the warmth once inside me now pooling outside. The darkness behind my eyes grows deeper, the sounds of the world become quieter.   
  
A dog barks in the distance. It's loud and shrill.   
  
_ 'Makka?' _   
  
"What the hell is that? Is that his phone?"   
  
"Maybe."   
  
"Check it."   
  
_ 'Why?' _   
  
"Fuck, it's Yakov."   
  
"Damn."   
  
"Tch. Put his shirt and coat back on him. Tell him where he is."   
  
_ Beep. _   
  
The blackness gets deeper, darker than any night. It is a neutral thing- not cold or hot, not too dark but certainly not bright. There is no sound within it, but there is sight. Pictures and visions pop in, split second glimpses of people and moments. Memories of my father and Makkachin, an image of my mother in the kitchen cooking borscht- it all moves fast and silent. An image of Yuri appears, his smiling face, blushing and proud after finishing his salchow. This too disappears as quickly as it came, leaving a pain in my chest.   
  
_ 'He'll be disappointed. He wants... to see me...' _ _  
_   
I fall into the darkness, wetness on my face as I continue to fall endlessly into the dark oblivion.   
  
"I'm sorry, Yuri..."   
  
*   
  
*   
  
*   
  
"Viktor, are you alright?" A soft voice, sweet and loving asks. I jump from the sudden sound. I open my eyes, meeting with large, chocolaty ones that are covered in concern. I cast my eyes down, staring into the open space around his neck, a passage into his shirt made by the large collar of the sweater.   
  
I gulp, my throat suddenly very dry. My hands are cold and clammy; shaking with fear and there's a little weight on the side of my head. It's Yuuri, a nervous look on his face.   
  
"Viktor, do you need some water?" His voice is just as shaky as my hands and he tries to keep it together. I shake my head.   
  
"Yuuri, no. I'm fine, I'm fine. I'm sorry." I reach a hand to him, pulling his head to mine, resting his temple against mine. I shake his hair, soft and fine; his head feels cold when it touches mine, he brings his own hand to my hair, resting his palm just above the nape of my neck.   
  
_ 'It was a nightmare. Calm down.' _   
  
"Viktor, what happened?" Yuuri asks, a hand rubbing my hair. I continue to stare into the shirt.   
  
"Yakov came, I think. I don't remember." I brush it off, my fingers tap at the wrist of the hand in my hair. His expression grows sadder.A small frown on his lips.   
  
"I'm sorry." He mumbles the apology, I raise a brow.   
  
"For what, dorogoy?" I continue to rub his hair, just as he does mine, it's a relaxing loop of touch between us.   
  
"For not protecting you, Viktor. Next time- no, there won't be a next time. I'll always be there." He kisses the tip of my nose, a cute gesture following after such a serious statement. I smile, feeling drowsy again. Yuuri drags his hand to the side of my face, the back of my neck getting cold from his movement. His palm is flat against my ear.   
  
"You have a fever. There's coffee on the dresser and food on the stove. Go back to sleep."   
  
My head is pushed gently onto the pillow. I watch Yuuri grab his things for work along with an outfit. Just before he leave the room, he turns.   
  
"I love you." He mouths and rushes out the bedroom and I return to my sleep.


End file.
